


Like I Loved You

by SowenElf



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Heavy Angst, Longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28024734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SowenElf/pseuds/SowenElf
Summary: Early S3 Timeline; one-shot. A month after coming back from the proverbial dead, Sydney and Vaughn are on a mission when things go awry. Feelings bubble to the surface and they test the notion that some words can’t be taken back.
Comments: 4





	Like I Loved You

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a grumpy and angsty mood, both in real life but also over the fact that I’ve been wholly unable to write anything worthwhile for nearly a week. My brain suggested that if we get this thought out of the way that would set things back to normal? So, here we go.
> 
> Songs on repeat that I listened to while writing:  
> Maps - Single Version by Freya Ridings  
> Don’t Look Back (feat. Kotomi and Ryan Elder) from Rick and Morty Season 4 Soundtrack  
> I Wish I Never Met You by Oh Wonder
> 
> Content Warning: graphic violence (dudes get hella beat up).

**(1/1)**

The taste of the brandy on his tongue helped his fraying nerves as Vaughn’s eyes dragged slowly with feigned interest around the ornate and ostentatious office. Their contact was late, a huge bodyguard dropping him off in the plush room and then locked the door behind him, the only indication that he was being asked to wait. The team was fairly sure that this room was wired for sound, so Jack’s voice asking for an update from Vaughn’s partner caused nervous butterflies to bounce around his stomach.

A feminine grunt and a clang from a little farther away preceded her voice, something that he was still getting used to hearing in his ear again. “I’m in.”

“Seven minutes, Sydney.”

The timer started as the door behind him creaked open, and he turned with faked warmth in his eyes as a squat man with a bad comb-over waddled into the room. The cigar in his hand smoked, the ash dropping to the expensive carpet as he gestured wildly to his guest.

“Ah, Mister Thomas, I apologize for keeping you waiting.” The door was closed behind him, the click of the lock returning Vaughn’s nerves to the frazzled condition from before the grotesque goblin had entered.

“Not a problem,” he said in a slight British accent.

“Please, sit. I have something to show you and I think you will be most delighted.”

The bouncy chair hissed beneath him, his eyes following as the host moved to a television mounted on the wall above the gold-trimmed desk. The disgusting nearly burned-out cigar squished between the man’s lips, a bit of tan-stained spittle coalescing at the crook of his mouth beneath the soggy wrap. Shaking his head from the ill distraction, Michael saw him pick up a remote control and bring the television to life.

Black and white security footage made him frown, and he could easily make Sydney’s figure rifling through the storage room as two lumbering guards with guns drawn stepped into the frame.

“Shit,” he heard Dixon say through his earpiece. 

“Is she with you? You know, Alain Christophe was an old friend, and he always spoke highly about Arvin Sloane’s pet agent. I have to admit that I’ve been interested in seeing her in action. Let’s watch, shall we?”

A massive hand with fingers like bananas hit his shoulder and pressed him into the chair, Vaughn cursing the fact that he’d been so shocked at the blown cover and Sydney’s exposure that he hadn’t heard the door behind him open. Taking a deep breath through his nose he tried to calm his fraying nerves.

He could hear the nervous excitement in her voice as it bounced into his ear over the com. “I’m having a really bad month. Why don’t we give this one a pass, guys?”

They gestured with the guns, not getting too close, and the cameras switched when they entered a room at the end of the long hall. The footage was still surveillance style, but the room was a concrete box with a drain in the middle of the floor, and Michael’s stomach bounced and bubbled bile into the back of his throat.

“Tell me, Mister C.I.A. Man, is three guys too many for her do you think?”

Vaughn rolled his eyes. “It’s ‘are three guys’, and I’m sure she’ll even the odds,” he said confidently, but there was a hint of worry in his voice.

Falling back into his gaudy chair with a cackle born of the boredom only a billionaire could incur, Michael felt the itch in his palms to punch the guy’s face through the back of his head. The squeezing of his shoulder reminded him that it was a giant that held him in place, so he kept his tense muscles under control as his eyes watched the men direct her into the middle of the room, the barrel of a gun used to point out the camera.

“The boss likes to watch.” Two of the men pulled off their coats and tossed them aside while the third kept the gun loosely pointed in her direction, and she realized what they meant by _‘watch’_. 

One of them grunted, “give us a good fight, eh, little bird?”

Dropping her hands she huffed annoyed into the air above and undid the bulky kevlar vest to reveal a black long-sleeved shirt below. Yanking that over her head, the stretchy tank top beneath clung to her torso. Chucking the garments into the corner behind her she kept in mind that a gun was hidden inside a pocket behind the zipper of the vest.

She could hear her father barking orders along with Dixon, the farther away nasally giggle of the man in the room with Vaughn, and knew that the footage was being watched in some way or another by her team back in L.A. Weiss’s voice cut through the din as he spoke straight to her.

“Syd, I know you’ve been spoiling for a fight and I’ve been convincing you to just...keep it bottled up for a bit because I don’t want you to kill me at the gym. Let it out, okay?” She nodded as a rush of adrenaline-fueled excitement poured into her veins. She stretched the muscles in her neck as a sense of calm washed in while she sized up her opponents.

The man moving to the right was tall, at least six and a half feet, and after he’d pulled off the coat she could see a large, toned, and muscled physique beneath a tightly stretched plain white tee. 

_'Elbows and knees, reverse his power. He’s going to come in cocky and hot. Use his momentum against him.'_

The man sidling to the left was about her height, short by a man’s standard, but he was stocky and had huge fists amplified by the fact that he was menacingly cracking his knuckles while giving her a grinning glare. He was slightly overweight, from what she could see, but his arms in the long-sleeved sweater were bulky, and she knew he was hired muscle for a reason. 

_'The other guy will come first_.' She could see the hesitation in shorty’s brown eyes as he glanced at the taller blonde for his cues. 

_'He’ll hesitate and leave himself open, probably around the throat or groin area, maybe the knees_.' That’s what she’d have to wait for.

The third guy was average in almost every way, and she could tell that the muscles beneath his windbreaker were built at the gym and likely served no other purpose than to impress ladies in the upstairs bar. He was the weak link - a weak link with a gun, however, wasn’t that weak. 

“Three guys and a gun doesn’t sound very fair,” she said softly.

They shared glances back and forth, and the moment the weapon was laid atop the pile of coats, Mister Tall sprang forward with a sloppy and wide punch using far too much momentum. She moved out of the trajectory easily, her shin spinning and catching him in the back of his leading knee causing it to fold. His hands and legs thumped on the cement and left him on all fours with a stinging ache at the back of the joint.

Moving back a few steps she heard his anger as well as her father’s chastising voice complaining that she didn’t follow through and capitalize on her advantage. What Jack had missed, however, was Mister Average maneuvering in an attempt to get behind her, which she wasn’t keen on allowing. Playing smart and smooth here would do her better than fast and risky. However, an opportunity _had_ risen from her kick.

Mister Average looked from her to his co-worker as the man growled and hissed with his hand wedged at the back of his knee. His startled blue eyes rolled back into his skull as her fist crashed into his jaw with a skin-smacking ‘pap’, and he hit the floor with a heavy thud.

“Good hit, Syd. Shit - right side,” Eric’s holler cut through the din and roaring blood in her ears, but as she turned the guy was already moving.

With a roar and forward lunge much faster than she thought possible or planned for, Mister Chubby wrapped his arms around her hips as his shoulder tackle slammed into her stomach. The wind rushed from her lungs twice - first when he hit her and second when she landed on the cement. Despite the fact that she gasped for breath, her body responded with moves that her muscles had memorized after hours spent training on the mat.

Strong runners legs hooked over Mister Chubby's hips, and she tried to cinch his waist between her thighs and straighten herself to slide from beneath his heavy frame. He panicked slightly when his grip began to loosen around her back, so he let go with his hands and pushed to sit on his haunches. Reeling back his fist, Sydney blocked her face with her forearms, though his aim was lower and she took the shot full force in the ribs forcing the air from her chest once more.

Loosening her legs she curled with sore abdominals to swing and plant her foot against his stomach. Kicking backward as hard as she could, he tipped and fell onto his ass as she used the pushed momentum to scramble backward until her shoulders hit the cool cement of the wall.

In the preposterously decorated office, Vaughn’s leg was fit to bounce off the chair as he nervously watched the screen. The tall blonde was back up, his shadow looming over her, and Michael knew he had to get out of this room as quickly as possible. It was only a matter of time that she could hold her own against the two left, and who knows if the third would wake and rejoin the fray.

The heavy hand was still on his shoulder, so he just needed a moment of distraction. The gun inside his holster was still cinched to his side, the guards not concerned enough to check for weapons. Today would be the last day this oaf would make that mistake. 

The distraction came as a swift kick to the gut that knocked Mister Chubby to the ground with a groan. The head cretin bounced in his chair with a squawk, spitting in anger that his goons were getting their asses kicked, and the suddenness of his voice made the bouncer jump and look toward his boss. This loosened his hold on Vaughn’s shoulder ever so slightly. Reaching quickly, Michael snagged the pinky and ring fingers and jammed them up as hard as he could, a shiver racing the adrenaline down his spine at the feel and sound of the bones breaking under his grip. 

Tipping forward and springing from the chair as the man growled and held his wounded hand against his chest, his free hand reaching to the gun tucked into the band of his trousers, but he was too slow.

**_BANG, BANG_ **

Two shots echoed, the dumpy man across the room screaming like a damsel in distress, and voices exploded in Vaughn’s ear asking if he was alright, the high and sharp accent of his wife the most severe. 

At the sound of Lauren’s panic, Sydney faltered. Worry for her partner began to push aside the dark adrenaline that was keeping her bobbing, weaving, and tossing a punch here and there. Realizing that the bangs in the back of her mind had been gunshots, her attention pulled away from the action for a few seconds. Weiss was quick to notice as he focused all of his attention on her, and he snapped with anger in his voice trying to correct her mistake.

“No, Syd, **focus**! He’s fine!” While the effort was valiant, the break in her attention was enough for Mister Tall to capitalize, and his hand wrapped around her throat to slam her back into the cool wall.

Taking another shot in the same aching side, Sydney wishing both men weren’t right-handed, pain bounced behind her eyes as his knuckles slammed into the side of her face not once, but twice. The first was against her cheekbone causing stars to explode behind her closed eyes, and the second nailed the left side of her mouth. A spray of blood hit the wall to the right of her shoulder as her head spun and a panting breath left her lips, and with a roaring growl Mister Tall lifted and tossed her a few feet away to land with a groan and a tumble.

“You do put on a good show, little bird,” the gruff panting voice ground out as blood poured from the broken nose she’d given with one of her punches, Sydney pushing up to her knees as one hand held her aching ribs. Blinking to clear her vision she spotted the drips of blood splatting onto the concrete below her, the metallic taste overwhelming as her tongue worried the cut on her lip as well as the one inside where her mouth and incisor had met thanks to the last hit. Spitting it out she rocked back to her heels and felt it dribble down her chin and cheek, swelling below her eye already beginning to make itself known as a throbbing pressure.

Flexing her jaw she saw Mister Tall suck in several deep breaths with his hands on his knees while Mister Chubby used the wall behind him to get off the ground. Still blissfully unaware and unconscious was Mister Average.

Weiss’s voice once again centered her. “Stop screwing around, Vaughn’s going for the device. Let it out, Syd, this is your one chance for this.”

Staggering to her feet she sucked in a deep breath despite the ache in her ribs, spit another mouthful of blood on the ground, and when the overgrown galoot charged again, she was ready. Catching his momentum and moving with him, she curled her arms around his extended punch and twisted as hard as her upper body could turn, the snapping of both bones in his forearm ending his advance.

Falling to his knees with a horrid cry she doubted he felt much else when her hands gripped the back of his head and pulled it down to meet her sharp upward knee, and he hit the ground a silent twitching mass. Her brain and body shifted into autopilot as a curtain fell across her mind to separate who she was from what she was doing. Sydney sunk into her training. Turning near-black eyes on the stocky man that was finally on his feet after her sharp kick to the gut, he made the same mistake and rushed forward, planted his leading leg, and threw a punch.

Countering his momentum she dipped low, his balled hand sailing over her head. Folding her arm, she rocketed the hard edge of her ulna upward and forced his arm to bend the wrong way at the elbow. At any other time the sickening scrunch of the separation and the subsequent holler of pain that left the man’s mouth would have made her step back, but whatever feelings were driving her actions had sequestered _Normal Sydney_ behind a safe and soft partition. This Sydney was made of pure dark circumstance; that’s what she’d released and what Weiss had been forcing her to keep under wraps for weeks.

She dropped her arms and circled to his side, the broken arm limply hanging at his side. While he didn’t honestly have any right, he leaned into his fury and planted his leg again for his good arm to make one last effort at knocking out the girl. Another crunch echoed as she side-stepped and sent a hard spinning counter kick to the knee of his off-leg, that joint also ending up the wrong way as he shrieked.

Catching her around the waist with his momentum, they fell to the ground, Sydney the only one with the wherewithal to spin her weight before they hit. The surprise on his face as she ended up in a full-mounted position above him was short-lived as her fist slammed into his nose loosing a spurt of blood against his mouth. He tried unsuccessfully to block with his one good arm, the first shot knocking him out of it enough for the limb to not fully cooperate with the strength he needed to thwart her anger.

Floodgates of pain-filled rage broke free behind the carefully constructed barrier she’d been building for the last thirty days, and Sydney saw red. Hit after hit rained down on the face of the man below her, and she could vaguely hear far away voices yelling, though they weren’t discernable. Mister Chubby’s hand fell away with a slap against the floor to the right of her straddling thighs, but still she wailed as harsh, aching, sobbing breaths tore from the back of her throat.

Arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind and lifted in an attempt to get her off of the unconscious man, and her body responded with more coiled memory. Throwing herself backward, whoever had the tight yet gentle hold around her waist wasn’t prepared for the sudden shift of their combined weight. He felt the pinch in his hip as his backside hit the hard floor and he tried to ignore the familiar feeling of her thighs around his waist and how perfectly they fit together as she ended up above him with a bloodied fist raised ready to slam down between the pleading green eyes. 

That familiar green gaze stopped her cold and the red began to creep away from the forefront of her mind. She was still furious, there was no stopping that fact, and before the rage could be sectioned back into its container her brain reminded her that _he_ was the cause for a lot of her anger. Once released those feelings weren’t going anywhere and she needed time to get things back under control.

Everyone went silent save for the harsh breathing inside the room, and Vaughn lay in stunned wide-eyed wonder beneath her, though he’d had enough sense to hold his hands up in surrender. In the Rotunda, you could hear a pin drop as five sets of eyes stared at the footage on the monitor, Marshall hooking into the feed at the beginning of Sydney’s brawl.

“It’s me,” Michael said quietly when she didn’t lower her fist, and he could see the struggle in her eyes. “Syd...it’s me.”

Tears backfilled and her glare turned watery, but she didn’t move. Instead, the grimace of her lips tightened along with the muscle in her arm. “I really wanna hit you,” she admitted with strained honesty.

“Okay,” was the only response he could think at the moment, though he hoped she didn’t take it as permission.

He could feel the squeezing grip of her other hand in his shirt, her fingers pinching the skin against one of the silvery buttons, and he couldn’t help but follow a drip of blood as it fell from her chin to his chest. Another followed a second or two later, and then another.

Concerned green bored into wounded brown, the first pleading for understanding and yet also accepting the fact that it wasn’t going to work and he would have to take one to the face. Releasing her arm she threw the punch. Vaughn flinched and slammed his eyes closed, but missing was the impact. He knew damn well how hard she could hit, but it never came. The fist connected with the hard floor next to his ear with a wet ‘thak’ as she redirected the momentum. He released a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding when she pushed off and fell to her backside to slide a few feet away.

With one hand clutching at her sore ribs, ragged breaths pulled from her lungs as she squeezed her eyes closed with a tight wince. Blood still leaked from the cut at the top of her left cheekbone and same side of her lower lip, and Vaughn sat up to rest his arms on his knees in a slouch. He expected an apology as she came back to herself, but quiet prevailed. 

Making the decision, he rose and dusted himself off before moving cautiously to her side and reaching to help her up. “C’mon,” he said softly and dragged her to her feet, a hand at her elbow and the other at her waist making sure she was steady. He flinched when she slapped his hand away leaving his skin to tingle and sting. Planting both palms against his chest she shoved him and the two staggered away from one another.

“Damn it, Sydney, I’m trying to make sure you’re okay!” His exasperation came out and though she’d stumbled into the wall behind her as the adrenaline wore off and her legs turned into jello, he stayed put.

“Oh,” she growled and panted with the exertion, her eyes meeting his, “what do you care? This is the most,” breath, “you’ve talked to me in weeks. I...get it. I understand,” she snarled, a tear dripping down her cheek, “that you have to keep your distance. I _know_ how hard it is, but you don’t...have to _try_ so **hard**.”

Silence reigned again in both the room and the Rotunda, though for a completely different reason than before. 

“It _is_ hard. I...still think of you as a friend. Of course I want you to be okay.”

“I wish I’d never met you,” she said in a clear sad voice that sucked the air from his lungs and punched his heart into his stomach. 

“Syd-” she interrupted.

“I hate,” shuddering gasp, “how I feel every...single...day, and,” she paused a moment to spit blood from her lips, “I get to live with the wrong memories. I wish they’d taken _everything_ ,” she sobbed, “because the memories of you and me?” She paused with a quake in her chin as ribbons of tears caught the blood on her cheek leaving behind red streaks on the left side.

“They’re a _burden_.”

Vaughn’s hands went akimbo as tears dropped into the scruff of his unshaven cheeks, and he stared her down with fierce emerald eyes. 

“It’s irrational for you to still be angry with me for moving on with my life.”

She scoffed. “I’m not...mad that you moved on, I hate that you came back. You could have just...stayed away.”

Michael shook his head, “I...left because I thought I had to, so when I got the chance to come back I took it.”

“Why?” The strength of her voice was wavering and the word came out as more of a whimper than she wanted.

“I quit because I failed - because you died. I buried you and moved on, not because I wanted to but because I _had_ to.”

“Why come back, Vaughn? Why couldn’t you just stay away?”

His resolve snapped, “because I want to **protect you** , damn it! I’m not **allowed** to love you anymore, but I’ll be damned if I let them take you again.” His arms fell back to his sides, the hands balling into fists.

“I’m not _your_ **_responsibility_**!”

“I know that!”

“Your **wife** is your responsibility!”

Heat poured over his heart into his stomach at the mention of Lauren, and suddenly the com wedged in his ear felt like a heavy weight. His eyes flickered up to the camera for a moment before he let the air out of his chest to release some of his pent up anger.

Pointing a trembling finger, “I don’t love her like I loved you; it was a different love that’s gone away, but I’m not going to forget that it was there.”

“Does _she_ know that?” Gesturing to the camera, she was surprised by his nod. They stood and stared at one another for several long moments, and Sydney felt the last vestiges of her anger begin to drift away as familiar sadness and longing refilled her heart.

Vaughn shrugged with a sniffle and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

A pounding headache was beginning to develop between her temples, and she knew the cheekbone needed ice else it would close the eye on the flight back home. Heaving a watery sigh she nodded and pushed off the wall, a few stiff steps forcing her legs to get their bearings. Bending with a wince she lifted the tactical vest and long-sleeved shirt up to loop over her good arm, the other pressing back against her ribs as she moved past him and through the door.

Grabbing the device he’d tossed onto the pile of coats before he’d sprung into action and pulled her off the guy on the floor, said guy still gasping behind his bleeding face, Vaughn followed with silent sullen steps.

**...**


End file.
